It’s a shiny new day,
A seasons shift,
Just the setting for a metamorphosis,
An evolution,
The birth of a new lifeform,
My next adventure in aesthetics,
So I paint my hair a new blend,
Scrub on a new face,
Give my wardrobe some new marching orders,
I am a new man,
But it’s a farce,
Life has not truly shifted,
New look,
New me,
But same problems,
Same nightmare,
There has been no true change,
It is hollow,
Aesthetics are not contentment.
The fickleness of spring gives way,
The temperature rises,
And with it comes the anticipation,
Hope for this year,
And the trees samba to a thankfully cool breeze,
As we rejoice around the barbeque,
Sunbathing and sunburns,
Beaches and azure waves,
Picnics and chilled beverages,
These temporary heavens,
I adore them all,
These hallmarks of a summer fulfilled.
I often wonder,
As I gaze at more tears on television,
Does life have a deus ex machina in the works?
A god out of the machine,
A plot twist in our lives,
A magical transcendental moment,
Perhaps an angel could lift a finger,
Or the Devil himself take a day off,
It’d be a game changer,
I wish someone would write that blissful passage,
To switch on the machine,
To rapidly change our fortunes,
Call it convenient,
Call it idealistic,
But have we not suffered enough?
Haven’t we crawled through enough ditches?
For our graft to bear fruit,
We throw ourselves wholly into our art,
We seek no reward,
That’s not the point,
We don’t want medals,
But perhaps a verbal salve to the heart,
We all want that pat on the back,
A show of hands from family and colleagues,
Acclaim and recognition,
Perhaps even grand fame,
To be acknowledged,
It’s only human nature,
But I say all of that be secondary,
The best accolades come from within,
The warmth of ones own creative furnace,
The feeling of a job well done,
It’s true that we are our own most vicious critic,
But we ought to be our most fervent devotee.
Gravity feels reversed,
Like an invisible magnetism to the blue,
I may be a helium balloon,
The sky is pulling on my feet,
I grip on to this wasteland by fingernails,
Barely snagging on to this loathsome wild west,
A sudden gasp,
And I’m off,
Falling away from reality,
Off in to the stratosphere I go,
Past an ovation of psychedelic clouds,
My ears pop at the sound of their symphony,
The sky becomess a spirited aurora borealis,
My senses stewed by the prismatic heavens,
Warping around me as I fall upward,
I watch real life fade on the horizon,
I don’t want my feet to fall on reality again,
I prefer this intoxicating madness.
Isn’t life just the worst?
I’ve noticed an abominable pattern,
The brain weaves tales of hyperbole,
Exaggerations you take at face value,
Negative truths in inverted commas,
Detractors to your mood,
That inner voice speaks thus,
You look like a troll without a bridge,
Your intelligence quotient is microscopic,
Not a single soul wants to abide you,
This depressive ache weighs a ton,
You’re the only human to experience this,
These embellishments sound like realities in your glum mood,
It would be easy to let them reduce you to a husk,
But only one truth should be central,
One to be taken to heart,
You’re the best you the world has ever seen,
That is no hyperbole,
Remember that.
Let me tell you a cautionary tale,
Of a man short-lived yet fulfilled,
Born anew each time the sun rears its head,
Grown grey and spent as the dusk whispers,
He lives for a day,
An instant,
A singular moment,
Full of life in the morn,
He lives that day to its extent,
Full of passion as the sun sits highest,
Enjoying every brush of the cheek and every fruit,
Though still aches for more as the sun sets,
Full of qualms come the eve,
As the days coffin cracks open,
Like winged insects we buzz momentarily across the world,
Only to die shortly thereafter,
We don’t exist for long,
You see my friends,
The mayfly man is all of us,
Spend each day like the humble mayfly,
Fly free and celebrate the day as your last,
After all it could be.
I sit reclined upon this scathing sand,
With the resort of the present behind me,
Belly laughs and dances and skipping,
And the broiling sea of the past before me,
Do-overs and regrets and flashbacks,
I spy herds of elephants migrating along the horizon,
A parade of weighty emotions,
Carrying memories myriad of years past,
Mirages of yesteryear images against the sunset,
Fizzing above the waves,
The herd continues unabated,
Each heavy footfall was pachyderm remembrance,
A weighty vision of events past,
My brain sits astride them gazing back at me,
Quizzically inquiring why I look upon their assemblage of years gone,
Why look back?
Why hark to the trumpeting?
Forget the elephants and pain,
They do not walk in your future.
I do wonder to myself,
Is being nice such a strain?
All humans struggle with it,
Even this wretched clown,
Humanity is programmed to choose himself,
Niceness and generosity are akin to naivete,
But why not be a strangers sun?
Even during a stormy day,
Be a reason for someone to smile,
Give your loose change to a vagrant,
Hold the door for anybody,
Donate that stray dog a blanket,
Being nice is not a sign of weakness,
It is the strength to overlook mankind’s faults,
It could be a tiny gesture of in-consequence,
But maybe the only light someone will see,
Be the sun,
Be kind.
A continuation of sorts of ‘Kabuto’.
Kneeling by myself,
I meditate in the morning rays,
The scent of last nights sake still on my lips,
Glancing to the floor before me,
I sight my trusty blade coated,
Each blood drip whispered of victory,
Strewn around me eviscerated are demons,
Negative oni,
They beset me in the twilight,
With claw and cynical words,
Unaware of my training,
I follow bushido now,
My new virtues are my strength,
And my katana follows suit,
Loyalty fell duplicity,
Honesty decapitated corruption,
Compassion cut down cruelty,
Courage disemboweled anxiety,
Once the deed was done,
I reflected upon my newfound ethics,
My positive armour and virtuous kenjutsu,
Evil will no longer bring me to my knees,
I’m a warrior now,
A samurai.
